And This Is How They Lived
by Rethira
Summary: It is everything Guts never knew he wanted. AU, Griffith/Guts


I was a bit iffy about posting this, but I am inordinately proud of it. I hope you like it.

Warnings: AU like whoa, slash, graphic-ness (of the slash kind), language, infidelity, and probably some others I can't remember.

Disclaimer: I do not own Berserk or any characters therein. I make no money from this.

* * *

**And This Is How They Lived**

They first met on the battlefield. Griffith was king, his wife, Charlotte, was pregnant with his second child and he was feared both on and off the battlefield. He was a political demon as well as a demon swordsman. Guts was a lone mercenary, bought to fight on the other side. He had nothing except the clothes on his back and his sword. He was unknown and cheap and ferocious.

Guts was the only one left of a massacre. He wouldn't be paid, but he didn't care. He was still fighting, the dull clang and harsh screams as he fought the enemy. He was surrounded and the army was jeering and sending men forward to try and kill him. He was tiring, slowly but surely. But he was also cutting a swath through their ranks, adding more blood and bone and corpses to the ground. Perhaps he would die here, but he didn't care. The fight was all he lived for and he would die for it too.

Griffith had left the battlefield and was cleaning his sword when a young soldier came running and told him that there was one man left standing and he was a monster. Griffith was intrigued and followed the messenger back to the loose circle of his men that had formed. In the centre stood a man – barely a man, a boy almost become a man – wielding an oversized sword, a look of grim determination on his face. While his men looked up to him as he approached, the boy-man carried on fighting, sword crunching into ribs and tearing a gurgling scream from the unfortunate soldier's throat. The man dead and no new soldier taking his place, the boy-man looked up and caught Griffith's eyes.

Guts didn't care who he fought. But he knew when his eyes alighted upon the white haired god sitting astride his horse and commanding the attention of all the soldiers around him that this was someone he _had_ to fight. And the god seemed to agree with him, dismounting and walking through the crowd, drawing his sword with a long drawn out _shinnng_. And then he fell into battle, living and breathing it, body aching but mind clear. His sword was abruptly ripped from his hands and the god's sword was at his throat. Guts waited for the final blow, even closed his eyes in preparation. And then the god spoke.

"I want you." Griffith said, too quietly for any of his men to hear. The boy-man's eyes snapped open, obviously having heard his words. Griffith almost smiled and spoke again. "Chain him and bring him back with us." He ordered and watched as his loyal soldiers quickly obeyed him. The boy-man's eyes never left him, even as he was bound and tugged away. Griffith paused for a moment, before lifting the boy-man's sword. He gave it to a soldier and told him to be careful with it and treat it well.

And that was how they met.

Griffith left the boy-man to the dungeons for a week. He left instructions for him to be well cared for, but he was still a prisoner. For a week Griffith focused on his kingdom and his wife and allowed the boy-man to stew, deep in the dungeons, while Griffith celebrated another victory with his court and wife. Griffith forced his curiosity down, needing to show his power to the boy-man before they became acquainted. Only then did he venture into the dungeons to talk to his prisoner.

Guts was used to being ignored, to being unwanted. He didn't know why it hurt to not be wanted by the god he'd fought on the battlefield. He was confused, especially given the words the man had spoken and the way Guts had seen him pick up Guts' sword. And then there was the almost deferential way the guards looked at him, the way they fed him better food than he was used to and the way his sword was propped opposite his cell, just waiting for him. Yet he was still surprised when the white haired god appeared in front of him, an enigmatic smile on his perfect face.

Griffith was struck again by the strength in the boy-man he looked upon. He was defiant, but quiet. He was _fascinating_. Griffith wanted him. He wanted him however the boy-man could be had. Every way, just as long as Griffith and Griffith_ alone_ had him. Only Griffith would be allowed to possess this boy-man, no-one else. But more than that, Griffith wanted him to be his of his own free will. A smile appeared slowly on his face and Griffith spoke.

"I want you." The god said. Guts stared up at him and frowned.

"Are you homo?" the boy-man asked, seemingly careless of how Griffith would take it. He only smiled lightly, a laugh easing its way past his lips.

"It was a great fight. You fought like it was a gamble, a gamble as to whether you lived or died. It didn't matter to you. I like you." The god said. "I'm Griffith. And you?"

"Guts." Guts replied.

"Then Guts, I want you." Griffith stated, smiling widely and freely. He was sure of this, surer than he had ever been in his life. This boy-man, Guts, was _his_. He was _his_ to use as he pleased.

Guts frowned again, annoyed. This man was presumptuous. Too presumptuous, like he thought he knew Guts and could tell Guts what to do.

"And if I say no?" Guts said. Griffith paused for a moment. Then he swiftly opened the door, lifted Guts' sword and gave it to him.

"What'll you do?" the man – Griffith – asked. Guts grinned and hefted his sword.

"That's easy." Guts said, and Griffith had to stop his laugh. He nodded lightly instead and motioned towards the stairs. Guts gave him a long look for a moment, almost seeming to ask why Griffith wanted to move upstairs.

"More room, Guts. It will be easier to fight up there. I would not want to handicap you in these close quarters." Griffith said. Guts stared and then shrugged.

"Not a handicap for me. I don't care where we do this. Of course, if you don't think you can fight down here..." Guts trailed off and this time Griffith did laugh.

"Not at all, Guts. Do you want to fight here and now? Or upstairs?" Griffith asked. The man was confusing as hell and Guts was forced to push down his annoyance with him.

"Wherever. I don't care."

"Then upstairs it is. Quick now." Griffith replied, motioning that Guts should precede him upstairs. They swept up there and Griffith could feel the rush of battle coming upon him and ached to fall into battle, but before that there were things they had to clear up. "Guts? What will you do if you win?"

"If I win... you'll be like your men who fought me earlier." Guts replied. He didn't look back, still sweeping up the stairs. They were approaching a door.

"And if I win?" Griffith asked, wanting to know the answer. Wanting to know what Guts would say.

"I'll be your solider, your fag boy, whatever you want." Guts muttered and pushed the door open and stepped into the courtyard. Several soldiers turned to stare and drew their swords, but Griffith stepped out from behind him and took a position across from him. He drew his sword and another placid smile appeared on his almost perfect face.

And then the battle began.

Griffith won. He was barely wounded from the fight. Guts was bleeding and pained and had a dislocated shoulder. But right then Griffith didn't care. He had won and Guts was his. He had won and his court and soldiers surrounded him – Charlotte and Caska had been worried, he had seen it in the brief glimpses he'd had of their faces – and now he only had to claim Guts as his.

One of Griffith's men twisted his arm sharply, obviously still sore about the men Guts had killed before. Others had crowded around Griffith and were congratulating him – he was definitely their king, they called him 'your majesty' – and he was being ignored. Guts gritted his teeth and pulled his arm away from the soldier. Griffith knelt before him and his pale white skinned hands laid themselves on Guts' cheeks.

"Now you belong to me." Griffith said. Guts stared at him and Griffith pulled away to tell his men why they had fought and that Guts was one of them now. Guts staggered to his feet behind him – Griffith knew him, could sense his every movement – and Griffith motioned for one of them to help him to a healer.

And that was how it began.

Several years passed and Guts became a man. He was respected, if not liked, and was loyal – painfully loyal, even though his loyalty had been paid for in blood. Charlotte gave birth to Griffith's second child; a daughter to go with his son. Wars were fought and won. Battles were fought and through it all Guts stood strong with Griffith behind him. Guts never called Griffith anything except his given name, despite the way the court gossiped and told Guts to stop referring to his king so informally. Griffith didn't mind and that was that.

Griffith never quite knew how to describe what it was he felt about Guts. He simply needed Guts, in all things. Only Guts, never anyone else. He knew Caska resented it, resented the way he had told her when he had won Guts that she had to keep him warm. She resented that he had never said he wanted her and that he had never loved her the way she loved him. The simple fact of the matter was that he _needed_ Guts and no-one else could compare.

Guts watched Griffith as much as Griffith watched him. He knew there was a bond between them, though what would come of it was anybody's guess. As long as Guts could have the freedom of battle, he didn't care. Something would happen one day, but until then Guts wouldn't worry himself over it. Griffith never demanded anything from him – well, nothing except that he stay and be Griffith's – and Guts never asked for anything except that he be allowed to fight. Griffith let him, often sending him out to kill bandits or thieves and when there weren't any then Griffith would fight Guts and Guts could forget everything except the heat of battle.

Perhaps things would have continued this way. But one day, one innocent day, Griffith said to his wife when she commented that he was lucky to have friends amongst his men that he had no friends. Guts and Caska heard him.

And Guts left.

They met on the battlefield. Guts was a mercenary again, free of all constraints, only seeking battle. Griffith was defending his country, leading his men into battle as he had so many times before. Guts was slicing a swath through the men coming at him, not thinking that once he had fought beside these men and the way some of them cried his name and some wanted to know why he fought against them. He ignored their words and swung his sword. But then he paused and could do no more than stare.

Griffith rode in and leapt from his steed to land before Guts. He smiled like old times and drew his sword and ignored the battle raging around them. It was just him and Guts in their own world, just like the first and second times they'd fought.

"If I win this time, you're mine forever. You won't leave me again." Griffith said. Guts could only nod, didn't bother to say that if he won Griffith would be dead because they both knew that by now. Their swords clanged together fiercely, as they began their fight. It couldn't be called a dance, not with the blood staining their boots, not with the bodies surrounding them, not with the screams of the dead and the dying and the sounds of death all around them. But it was still beautiful.

Guts yielded like he had before, Griffith pinning him to the ground, sword at his throat. Griffith knew that only he would ever be in this position, free to take Guts' life and only stopped by the _need_ to possess this man. He pulled away and hauled Guts to his feet and smiled.

"You're mine forever now, Guts." Griffith said. Guts nodded.

"Yours forever, to do whatever you want with." He affirmed and then he turned to rejoin the battle, Griffith turning the other way. They fought again, ripping through the ranks of the enemy until the cry of victory went up. Guts was welcomed back and Griffith was safe again. He could carry on as he hadn't been able to without Guts by his side.

The castle was still home to Guts, despite his travels. It was home with water and sheets and Griffith ruling over it, and it would be home for the rest of Guts' life now. Some of the soldiers were unhappy that he was back – he had killed their friends and deserted Griffith after all – but Griffith's word was law and he wanted Guts back so they were accepting him with as much grace as they could. Guts was ignoring their resentment, sure in the knowledge that the only thing that mattered was that Griffith wanted him. He watched Griffith and waited and when the celebrations finished after their triumphant return, Griffith motioned to him and Guts followed, once again obedient.

Griffith led Guts back to his rooms. He, like all kings, had separate chambers from his queen. He sent the guards away and welcomed Guts inside. They went to his bed chamber and there Griffith paused at last and turned to face the taller man. He shed his armour until he stood only in loose clothes. He moved quickly, as fast as he had a hundred, a thousand times before and touched Guts' face gently, darting his lips in to press lightly against Guts'. He pulled back almost immediately.

"Leave if you do not want this." Griffith said. Guts blinked and then lifted his hand and touched Griffith's cheek like Griffith was touching him. He leaned in and caught Griffith's lips. Their lips crushed together. Guts tangled a hand in Griffith's hair and pulled him closer. Griffith's tongue invaded his mouth and Guts groaned softly. He walked Griffith backwards towards the bed and followed him down, hands tugging at the loose clothes on Griffith. He was eager, more eager than he could ever remember being, even more eager than he had ever been to get into battle.

Griffith pulled back and set his hands to work on Guts' clothes before rolling them over. He tugged his own jerkins off before relieving Guts of his. There was a mutual pause in the proceedings as they looked at each other – Griffith was not surprised by the size of Guts' cock, given his stature – but it was brief and then Griffith was kissing Guts' bare skin again and sighing as Guts' large hands stroked over his chest, catching his nipples and contrasting so delightfully with his pale skin.

Guts had been surprised at how little he'd cared that he was doing this with a man – though he still remembered the pain of Donovan – but it was Griffith and he trusted Griffith above all others. Besides, this was setting his blood alight and he was burning to touch Griffith and be touched in return. Griffith's mouth was trailing kisses and nips and bruises down his torso and Guts couldn't keep his hands from clutching at Griffith's chest and rubbing his thumbs over Griffith's nipples, half amazed by how much Griffith seemed to like the attention. Griffith's mouth went lower and Guts' hands were left clutching at too soft white hair while Griffith's tongue touched and wrapped around his cock. Guts threw his head back and groaned, grasping at Griffith's hair, reeling from the sensation.

Guts' cock was hot and heavy and Guts in his mouth and Griffith wanted it so badly it was sending him mad. This was what had been missing before, though back then neither of them would have dared to suggest this. Griffith needed this as much as he needed anything else from Guts – he needed this heat and he needed the taste of Guts' cock and Guts' seed on his tongue and he needed the noises he was pulling from Guts' throat. He needed the feel of Guts' spread thighs beneath his hands and he needed the feel of Guts' hands in his hair. So he pressed forwards, taking as much of Guts' cock as he could fit into his mouth and sucking and licking and swallowing around it until Guts was pulling him away.

Guts was shaking on a precipice, sure that if Griffith did anything else it would send him over the edge. He was panting and breathing harshly, gasping for breath as he dragged Griffith up. Griffith was smiling smugly, obviously pleased with himself. While Guts controlled himself, he watched as Griffith leant over him and picked something up from his bedside table. It was phial of oil. Griffith swung a long leg over Guts' and leant forwards a bit, prompting Guts to hold him there. He uncorked the oil and drizzled it over his fingers and then reached behind him. Guts sensed that it was only his sure hold that kept Griffith upright if his low moan was anything to go by.

Griffith knew he was rushing, but he wanted this so badly, as badly as he wanted Guts to remain with him. This was necessary and if he wanted to do it too quickly then so be it. So he opened himself as quickly as he could, not lingering about it and slicking himself open before covering Guts' cock with a little oil and sitting back. He could feel Guts' blunt cockhead pressing against the muscles that strained to keep him out, but Griffith ignored the stab of pain and pushed harder, all the while staring into Guts' eyes. Guts' cock was thick and hard and glorious and painful but Griffith wouldn't change it for anything.

"Mine. You're mine." Griffith hissed as he enveloped Guts' cock. Guts nodded frantically, aching to let his hips jerk upwards and drive into the body above him, the body that was impaling itself on his cock. Griffith was clenching around him and he was hot and tight and immediately better than any woman – in part because he was Griffith. He was buried in Griffith and it was everything he'd never known he'd wanted. Griffith lifted himself up and away, the tight clinging heat pulling off of Guts' cock and this time he couldn't stop the way his hips jerked up and the way his hands found Griffith's hips and pulled him down. Griffith's choked moan sent shivers down Guts' spine, as did his half whimpered words of 'yes, more, like that'.

"Yours, Griffith." Guts finally replied, his cock pressed up tight inside Griffith, hips flush against Griffith's arse. A sigh escaped Griffith's lips and he clung to Guts' shoulders as he moved with Guts' hands and cock. He couldn't contain the moans and whimpers as Guts moved inside him and he could only concentrate on the cries that were being pulled from Guts' lips. Every groan, every grunt, every harsh cry sent heat spiralling into Griffith's cock. Soon he was whimpering, demanding _harder, faster, more, now_ from Guts and one hand was wrapping around his cock.

Guts groaned harshly and jerked harder as he watched Griffith milk himself, still being impaled, still being fucked by Guts while he brought himself off, his blue eyes devouring Guts and his hips meeting every one of Guts' thrusts. He leant forwards abruptly and their lips met messily, saliva escaping from between their lips and their teeth clicking uncomfortably. Guts didn't care though, thrusting up again and again, the motion drawing moans from Griffith until Griffith pulled back, hand moving fast over his cock and hips moving faster.

"My Guts, _mine_." Griffith cried, throwing his head back and feeling heat explode in his stomach and stars flash into being behind his eyes. He could hear Guts' wordless cry mingling with his own, and Guts' seed inside him and his own cock emptying over Guts' stomach, marking it as Griffith's, marking Guts as Griffith's while pleasure burned through him.

Guts came back to himself with Griffith leaning over him, panting, his seed cooling on Guts' stomach. They were sweaty and sticky and utterly exhausted and Guts still lifted one tired arm and wrapped it around Griffith. For a moment he relished having Griffith plastered to his chest, snowy white hair fanned across his darkened skin, and the only noise their laboured breathing. Griffith shifted and rolled off Guts', ignoring – or not caring – as Guts' cock slipped from him. He flopped beside Guts and pressed a gentle kiss to his brow. Guts rolled to face him and again wrapped an arm around him.

And they slept.

Griffith reflected afterwards that it had been easy. Their relationship had always allowed for the facet of sex, but neither of them had bothered to explore that before Guts had left. Griffith had explained, eventually. He had explained to Guts that what he had told Charlotte was not entirely true – though Guts was not his friend, Guts was more important than any friend could be. There were no words to describe what Guts was to Griffith, something that Guts seemed to understand.

Guts was re-accepted amongst the men, eventually. Caska seemed to understand why he had left them behind, but she still didn't accept it. She still resented him for having a place in Griffith's heart – one that she would do anything to have. But her resentment had been tempered and she was more accepting of the fact that she would never have what she wanted, especially as she watched Guts and Griffith together. Guts still didn't know what to call his relationship with Griffith and he wasn't quite sure what to think of the fact that Griffith lay with Guts more than he laid with Charlotte, but he wasn't going to say anything and neither was anyone else.

Griffith cared for his wife and his children. He had given them better than he had had, his son and daughter. They both had food and warmth and people who would protect them. His children and his children's children would rule here after he died. He had ensured that and his son was being taught the way of ruling to rule after him. But even though he loved them – though he did not love their mother – Guts was more. He was more important. He was needed more. He was just _more_. If Griffith spent more time with Guts than with Charlotte, no-one said a word. And no-one ever would.

Guts was glad that Griffith understood him the way he did. No-one else quite understood him the way that Griffith did. He never had to say anything to Griffith. Griffith already knew, although quite how Guts never discovered. It was because Griffith watched people, especially Guts. He knew things that had happened to Guts – no real parents, a careless foster father, Donovan (though not his name, just what he had done), the blood and death that had surrounded Guts since he was born. Griffith knew and Guts never had to tell him, never had to grab his wrist and stop him from touching him, never had to say 'No'.

Griffith was used to pushing boundaries. He was used to getting what he wanted. But with Guts, he didn't. He didn't push Guts into things; he never had to. Guts did what Griffith wanted without any pushing and in return Griffith never pushed him for the one thing which Guts couldn't bring himself to do. Griffith wanted it, to place a final and absolute claim on Guts, one that few – if any – would recognise. He wanted to fuck Guts, wanted to bury his cock in Guts' arse, wanted to watch as Guts moaned and moved beneath him but Griffith wouldn't. He would resist the urge until Guts was ready, and if Guts was never ready then Griffith would do without. It was part of what was between him – the _need_ for Guts outweighed the need to fuck him.

And they lived.

It wasn't until Guts was twenty four – seven years after he had first met Griffith – that their relationship changed again. The kingdom had been peaceful for a while – Griffith had let Guts go and fight when he needed to – but a nearby kingdom had undergone a revolution and the new king was testing his boundaries. Guts was already close by when the enemy troops breached the border and he fought to repel them until Griffith came. And come he did.

Griffith brought his army down upon the invaders swiftly and mercilessly. He crushed them and sent them fleeing and afterwards he brought Guts – Guts who had stood alone through a handful of battles and bought them time – to his tent. For once, Griffith didn't care that his men could hear them, didn't care that Caska could hear them, didn't care that any one of the people outside could go back to the castle and inform them that they had won but that their king was fucking – no, being fucked _by_ – a man. He was simply thankful that Guts lived, mostly uninjured, and still _his_.

Guts knew he should have cared that people would talk. But they didn't and Charlotte remained blissfully unaware of the things that went on behind Griffith's bedroom door. She had merely hugged him like she always did and joined him for the celebrations. There were always celebrations and this time Guts did not feel his stomach twist when Griffith led Charlotte away. It was necessary, a way to show his men that yes, he and Guts had done something at the camp, but here he was still their king, still Charlotte's husband. It didn't matter though. Before the night was out, Griffith would have left Charlotte and joined Guts. It was the sort of relationship they had. So Guts ducked away from the celebrations like he always did, leaving Caska and Rickert and Judeau and Pippin and all the others to enjoy them. He made his way to Griffith's chambers and waited for the king to leave his queen.

Griffith escaped from Charlotte and hurried to his chambers. Guts was there already, nude and waiting and he knew tonight was different.

"Guts?" Griffith asked him, uncertainty in his voice and on his face. Guts stared up at him for a long moment before licking his lips and voicing words that he had never thought he'd say.

"I want you. I'm ready." Guts said to him, voice harsh in the silence that had fallen around them. For a moment Griffith hardly dares to breath, but then he moves – faster than he ever has before, he thinks – and he is all but devouring Guts' mouth while his hands fumble to remove hastily thrown on clothes. Guts' hands join his and for once they help rather than hinder, getting his shirt off while Griffith unties his trousers. Naked at last, he allows Guts to drag him down and almost allows himself to be distracted by the slide of their dicks against each other. But urgency and need and desire fill him and he reaches for the oil to slick his fingers – Griffith idly wonders if he has ever been this desperate before – and presses them to Guts' arse, somewhere he has never touched before because it was wordlessly out of bounds.

Guts shoves the urge to cry out down. Griffith is not Donovan and Guts is bigger all around now. He is bigger than Griffith to be sure, despite being younger and besides, this is _Griffith_ who he trusts above all others. Never has Griffith made him flinch away, never has Griffith made Guts yell 'don't touch me' and never has Griffith deliberately hurt him. Griffith will not hurt him now Guts believes. He struggles to relax enough for Griffith to even get his fingers inside, but then they are and it is somehow wonderful and terrible at the same time. His body doesn't want this, he almost wants to tell Griffith 'no', but he doesn't. Griffith's face is flushed and his blue eyes are dark with emotions Guts doesn't want to name.

"_Mine_." Griffith asserts as his fingers search and stretch inside Guts. Guts is pained, but he hasn't protested and the noise he made at Griffith's words tells him that Guts will let him continue. He needs to be inside the hot, tight clutch of Guts' body, but he needs Guts to want him there so badly it is almost sending him mad. He presses open mouthed kisses to every bit of skin he can reach, even sucking Guts' cock down his throat and swallowing reflexively until at last the tightness around his fingers loosens enough. Griffith doesn't wait, he simply moves, holding Guts' hips still as he lines up and presses in. It is like heaven and hell and everything in between. Guts is too tight, clenching too hard and trying to keep Griffith out, but it is also so perfectly tight; his cock loves the heat and the pressure all around. Griffith leans over Guts, pushing in as far as he can go.

"Let me in." Griffith asks and Guts is too used to following his orders. His muscles relax and Griffith bears down and it is all Guts can do not to scream. He wants Griffith in and out and he wants Griffith's hand around his cock and he can only clutch at the sheets and pillows and fight not to let out the noises that are crowding in his throat. Griffith is just near enough and he manages to get one hand up to drag Griffith's lips down to his. He gasps into Griffith's mouth, sounding out his pleasure and pain and jerking helplessly when Griffith's hips moved and his cock pulls out of him and pushes back in. Guts can't quite understand why something so bad is so good, he only knows that it is.

Griffith glories in the slide of their sweat slicked bodies, the tight grip of Guts' arse around his cock, the hand in his hair. He kisses Guts and accepts each heady moan and groan with relish. He pushes Guts' leg up and wraps it around his waist – hardly elegant or something Guts would do, but then this isn't a normal situation – before thrusting harder. A guttural groan leaves Guts' throat and his harsh grunts become peppered with _faster, harder, more, Griffith_. Griffith wraps a hand around Guts' cock, tugging at it with almost brutal efficiency. Guts tosses his head back and arches and makes a curious noise almost like a drawn out whine.

"_Griffith._" Guts manages to say as he comes, head thrown back, arched in ecstasy and white – _like Griffith's hair _– behind his eyes. He doesn't equate the howl with himself, focused only on the way his cock is pulsing and the too thick, too hot cock – _Griffith's cock_ – in his arse to think of anything else. For some reason the way his muscles are clenching around Griffith's cock and the hot pulses inside him – _Griffith's seed_ – makes him feel even better. Guts pants and gasps and clutches at the sheets and Griffith's hair and tries to get his breath back. He can feel his own seed on his stomach and Griffith is still hovering above him. Griffith is watching him heatedly, though weariness seems to be pulling at him. His arms are shaking a little. Guts offers a tired smile and brings his leg down.

Griffith is exhilarated and exhausted and overjoyed. He has left his final claim, his final mark on Guts. Now no-one will be able to take Guts from him. No-one. This is permanent, forever and Guts can never leave him now. No longer worried that Guts might leave again, Griffith eases away from Guts – he ignores the flash of desire when he sees his seed leaking from Guts' arse – and lays beside him.

"Now you belong to me." Griffith says, just on the verge of sleep. Guts nods and wraps an arm around him, pulling him close.

And they sleep.

Morning came too soon after that night. Griffith and Guts had moved with the easy efficiency of practice as they woke and cleaned up and set everything in order. Griffith smiled at Guts and winced with him when Guts had sat down too abruptly – true he was a soldier, he lived for the fight, but there is a difference between pain from battle wounds and pain from the inside. Griffith had watched Guts as he got on with life, acting like nothing momentous had happened the night before. Griffith had known then that this was right. What they had was good and right and natural, because if what they had done was wrong then Guts would act like it had been, not like this. Not like he was still himself.

Guts ignored the occasional stabs of pain when he moved. Griffith had caused that pain and it wasn't a bad pain. It was more like Griffith was telling him that he might be on the other side of the castle, but Guts still belonged to him. He was Griffith's. He could almost ignore the pain, but every time he felt it he was reminded of Griffith. That was how it went; every movement, every swung sword, every belly laugh when Corkus behaved like an arse and got punched – all of them resulted in Guts thinking of Griffith. Griffith owned his thoughts more than usual and it was good.

Griffith relaxed. He felt safe and easy and sure of himself now that he had Guts. Possessiveness didn't really seem to cover it. What Griffith felt was an all consuming need to completely bind Guts to him, so tightly that Guts would never be able to escape, and at last he felt that he had accomplished that. He could rest easy, even on the nights when Guts wasn't in his bed. Griffith even felt secure enough to send Guts out on campaigns and to lay with Charlotte – though she could not compare to Guts – and to do so many things that he hadn't because he had been afraid that Guts would leave. Now, he knew that Guts would not.

Caska knew about Guts' relationship with Griffith. She had overheard them many times and had protected their reputations by keeping her mouth shut about it. Guts liked Caska and he sometimes felt guilty about the simple fact that Griffith barely spared her the time of day. But she was still loyal, so loyal and a good friend. Guts made sure to treat Caska as kindly as he could, never impressing upon her the fact that although Guts was _Griffith's_, Griffith was _Guts'_. Guts didn't think that Griffith had quite realised that Guts was also afflicted with a need to have Griffith near and _his_. Griffith was the only person in Guts' entire life who had ever truly cared for Guts as he was, not just for his fighting ability or his body or because of loyalty to the memory of a dead woman; Griffith cared about Guts because he was Guts.

Griffith realised, after much deliberation, that he needed Guts more than anything. Now that he had Guts, forever and ever and Guts wouldn't leave him ever again, Griffith could admit to himself that when Guts had left, part of Griffith had too. He had been willing to give up everything, anything, just as long as he could have Guts back. Griffith knew he shouldn't lean so heavily upon Guts – that he shouldn't be so reliant on him – but he couldn't help himself. Guts made Griffith who he was and he was what kept Griffith going. It was no longer his ambition, no longer his surety that he was destined for greater things; it was Guts.

And this is how they lived.

* * *

Just in case anyone's interested, this is the longest oneshot I've ever written.

Also, just to clarify, the AU is a world where Griffith got what he wanted before he met Guts. He got down to securing his position quite quickly, helped by his natural charisma and fathered two children (deliberately not named, because Griffith only wanted children to secure his bloodline on the throne and Guts plain didn't care). Obviously, the whole thing with the Godhand and Sacrificial Brands didn't have to happen.

Yeah, I just wanted them to have some sort of happy ending.

_Rethira_


End file.
